


Windows

by littlegeniussherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Jim is hurt, M/M, Mentions of War, Sebastian can't fix it, Short description of murder, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 05:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13540437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlegeniussherlock/pseuds/littlegeniussherlock
Summary: Inspired by a post from unsenttextstomoran on tumblr. Short ficlet in which there is a threat to Jim's life, but Seb is too late.





	Windows

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unsent Texts to Moran](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/354687) by unsenttextstomoran. 



> Hi guys, haven't posted in ages I know, but I wanted to add a link to the thing that inspired this short fic. Here: http://unsenttextstomoran.tumblr.com/post/163089011413/anon-requested-sebastian-in-trouble-with-another
> 
> Have a look, thanks for reading. Enjoy.

This was supposed to be a fucking easy job, in and out. So why, pray tell, was Sebastian getting a frantic call from one of his that a sniper had just shot through the main floor window, narrowly missing James Moriarty. Who the fuck had ratted out the position of their flat and why? His rifle comes apart quickly and goes into the duffel without a care, if its broken then to hell with it. He has to fucking hurry, so he shoots an urgent text to Jim, if that stubborn fucking idiot will listen to him--- he probably won’t.

His feet hit the pavement with a heavy thud as he barrels down the sidewalk. His heart is beating hard in his chest and his mind is whirring to try to pick out where the sniper could be, but without seeing them firsthand he has absolutely no way of knowing, no way of trying to determine where the shots came from. Fuck. He’ll have to find a good vantage point, but where? He doesn’t fucking know where to go--- he has to stop, to-to think.

Get your ass in gear, Sebastian Moran.

He stops, suddenly, almost causing the person walking behind him to run into him, and realizes that he’s letting his own emotions cloud his judgement. How had he been so fucking stupid? The sniper hikes his duffle up and takes off in the direction of the home opposite his own and climbs up to the rooftop with little effort, panting at the top as he sets up. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he doesn’t check--- doesn’t have the time. He puts his gun together in record time and lays on his belly, waiting, watching.

Moran is taken back to the hot sands of Afghanistan, laying on abandoned homes in cities full of people who wanted you dead. Never knowing the difference between friend or foe. He can feel the hot sun beating down on him, feel the sweat rolling down his forehead. He can taste the dirt, the gunpowder, and he licks his lips to get a better taste-- to remember. A gunshot rings out, and like a snap he is back in London where it has just started to rain. 

Sebastian wasn’t quick enough to catch where the shot had come from, so this time he trains his eyes on the building, and he waits with bated breath to see where the shot would come from. One breath, he sees a face in the window, was th-- BANG.

His name dies on his lips as he watches the bullet finds its mark. Sebastian feels as if the air has been punched out of his lungs, how could Jim be so fucking stupid? He doesn’t bother packing and instead takes off in a full on sprints towards where he knows the shot came from, he’s certain. His footsteps are heavy on the pavement as he barrels into the man, the killer, that had just--- Jim.

Sebastian shoots him in the head like a wounded animal, no dignity, no words. Then he’s off again, running towards the house--- their house. The front door bangs open loudly as he makes his way to the second floor where… where… there is so much blood. Its everywhere, and suddenly Sebastian feels sick because that was a trained sniper-- where did his shot hit?

“James?”

No answer and his heart jumps into his throat as he rounds the corner and a sob passes his lips. Sprawled out on the floor is James Moriarty, a smile playing on his lips and his brown eyes--- seeing no more.


End file.
